“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it,” Lucas grumbled, his deep voice sated and sluggish.
“Who says I’m thinking anything?”
“You sighed.”
“I breathed.”
He laughed. “If I said the sky was blue, you’d say it was green. Though, I haven’t seen the daylight sky in so long, it might well be green by now.”
“The sky is still blue. And I’m not that bad.”
“Oh, aye, you are. But I lo . . . can’t keep my hands off you anyway.”
Kathryn heard the catch in his sentence and wondered what he’d been about to say. She thought about possibilities and found herself smiling goofily. She hit the brakes hard on that thought. Time to change the subject.
“So, how old are you?” she said quickly. “I mean, you told me the other day that only lovers could ask that question, but I’m pretty sure I qualify now.”
“No doubt of that.”
“So, fess up, old man. How old?”
“I was born in Kildare, Ireland in 1785.”
Kathryn blinked. “But that makes you,” she did some quick math in her head, but Lucas beat her to it.
“Two hundred and twenty-seven years old, give or take a month. I was born in winter, that’s all I know.”
Kathryn sat up, staring at him in disbelief.
“You must have had some idea,” he said, gazing back at her calmly.
“No. I mean, well, yeah. But . . . I don’t think anybody, at least not anybody in authority, knows you’re that old. I mean . . look at you! I know twenty-year-olds who don’t look this good! Are all of you that old?” She knew she was rambling, but couldn’t stop herself.
Lucas only grinned. “You think I look good?”
Trust him to pick out the one flattering thing she’d said. “You have a mirror,” she said dismissively. “And I’m sure you spend plenty of time in front of it, too. So don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“Fine,” he replied, sounding completely put upon. “No, not every vampire is the same age as I am.”
“Are you never serious?”
“Believe me, Kathryn. I can be deadly serious when the situation calls for it. But lying in bed, naked, with a beautiful woman I’ve just fucked until she screamed my name—” He laughed when Kathryn gave him a threatening glare. “—is not normally a time that calls for solemnity. However. Just for you, a cuisle.”
He pushed himself up on the pillows and put his hands behind his head. “There are many vampires younger than I am, and a very few who are much, much older. The important thing to remember when dealing with vampires, Kathryn, is that age and power are not necessarily the same thing. I’m two hundred and twenty-seven, and that seems old. But I have several vampires in my territory who are far older than that, and they are sworn to my service because I protect them, not the other way around. If one of them were to challenge me, he’d be dead before he got the words out. That’s how it works. Humans speak of leaders holding the lives of their followers in their hands, but with vampires, it is quite literally true. My vampires have blood in their veins and air in their lungs because I make it possible.”
Kathryn studied this new, serious Lucas. If all one saw was the public face, the handsome playboy charming his way through a crowd, it would be easy to underestimate Lucas Donlon. Fatally easy.
“How does it happen?” she asked softly.
He gave her a puzzled look.
“How does someone become a vampire? Is it like the books?”
“I suppose that would depend on which book.”
“All right. How did you become a vampire, then?”
“Ah. Now that’s a long story.” He reached out a well-muscled arm and flicked the tip of one of her nipples. “If you come back here,” he added, dropping his arm to her waist and tugging her toward him. “I’ll tell you.”
Kathryn gave a mock scowl and cupped her breast protectively, mostly for effect since Lucas never did anything that hurt her, not even in the deepest throes of their passion.
Lucas responded by leaning forward and taking the offended nipple in his mouth, kissing it gently and swirling his tongue over and around in a soothing caress.
“Better?” he murmured.
Kathryn could barely breathe. Some emotion she’d never felt before was squeezing her chest like a straitjacket. She stroked her fingers through his unruly hair, then nodded wordlessly, and let him tug her down into his arms. “Tell me the story,” she whispered, knowing, even as she asked, that she was playing with fire, that with every word that passed his sensuous lips, she’d be sucked deeper into the flame that was Lucas Donlon.
Chapter Fourteen
1801, London, England
Lucas Donlon sidled through the crowds in the busy square, his practiced eye searching for the next mark, the next fool. That’s what they all were. Fools. Clustered mindlessly around the opera house forecourt, without the sense God gave a mongrel dog. At least a dog was smart enough to guard its treasure, even if it was only a tasty bone.
He scrambled up to the roof of a nearby building and crouched low, smiling privately at the image of himself as a mongrel dog among the sheep below. He’d always wanted a dog, but when his mam had been alive, she hadn’t wanted the mess, and once she’d died . . . well, he’d had enough trouble keeping himself fed, much less a dog. And there was Dublin’s Constabulary to contend with. They’d tried more than once to throw him into one of those priest-run prisons for wayward boys. He’d preferred to take his chances on the streets. At least there he was free—free to keep the few coppers he managed to earn running errands for the whores who’d been his dead mother’s companions at the end of her life. Free to steal whatever else he could get his hands on.
Inevitably, he’d run afoul of the Constabulary one too many times and been forced to leave Ireland behind. And not without a few looks back, either. Ireland was his home, but he’d promised himself that he’d return someday when he was a rich man. He’d be wearing fine clothes and riding a beautiful horse like those his grandfather had owned. He only hoped that heartless old man was there to witness it.
Lucas pushed aside thoughts of the grandfather who’d left him and his mother to starve on the streets. The old man was An Tiarna of his own lands. His servants lived better than what he’d abandoned his own flesh and blood to endure.
Lucas surveyed the milling crowd. He was still as thin as ever—his meals weren’t regular enough for anything else—but at sixteen he was too tall to slip easily through the crowd as he’d once done, plucking purses at will. He had to choose his target more carefully these days, had to move decisively, make the grab and get away with no one the wiser. Because he was too old for a boys’ home. If he was caught now, it would be prison for him, and for a very long time, too.
His eye fell on a tall man, black-haired like Lucas himself, but with eyes just as black as his hair. He stood out even in this fancy gathering, supremely arrogant in an arrogant crowd. The man was dressed finely, his breeches clean and tucked into shining, knee-high leather boots. His gleaming white waistcoat was richly embroidered, and his coat was the finest wool, expertly tailored to fit such a big man. The only flaw in this sartorial splendor was the absence of a hat, as though he disdained the need to hide or shelter beneath its brim. All of that said money and position to Lucas’s well-trained eye. Unfortunately, his well-trained brain was telling him there was something not right about this one. He didn’t have the look of the other fools, with their eyes everywhere but where they should be. Lucas’s experience was telling him that not much slipped by this dark-eyed stranger.
The man called something over the heads of the crowd, and Lucas turned to look. Another aristocrat, nearly as tall as the dark one, but pale instead, with hair as red as any Lucas had seen on the streets of Dublin. Lucas strained to hear what was said, but they were speaking a strange tongue, and he couldn’t understand a single word. The pale man responded in the same language.
Foreigners, then. Lucas grinned. What a feat it would be to steal a purse from this one. None of his thieving friends in the rickety hovel they called their own had ever managed such a grab. It was risky, but he was certain the purse would contain enough coins to make it worthwhile.
Lucas’s gaze followed his new target, observing the way the foreigner moved among the crowd, the way his clothes shifted around his purse, and the purse itself. Well-crafted leather, but with a narrow strap that would fall easily to the small, sharp knife Lucas carried up his sleeve. He studied the mark longer than he normally would have. With most of his marks, he could simply slip up behind them, dip a hand into a satchel or slice a strap, and be gone before the fool even knew he’d been there.
But when the purse was rich enough, one had to be extra cautious. Such people frequently had companions or even guards to be wary of. It paid to take a few moments and observe.
With this man, this tall, dark foreigner, he’d take those few moments and more.
Lucas finally made his move when the bells sounded, and the mingling gentry began shuffling toward the front doors of the opera house. He swiftly descended from the roof and hung back in the alley, scanning the crowd one last time, checking the location of the various watchmen who always lingered nearby. Once set upon his course, however, he didn’t hesitate. He moved through the crowd with the ease of long experience, dropped the knife into his hand, strolled up to the mark and slid the knife beneath the strap of the foreigner’s purse. A flick of his wrist and . . .
Long fingers curled around his wrist with surprising strength. Lucas raised his eyes in shock and met the cold, black gaze of the dark man. The man smiled, and it chilled Lucas to the bone.
“I believe that’s mine,” the man said, his voice deep, the English words heavily accented.
Lucas clenched his jaw and stood to his full height, straightening his shoulders. If he was going to go down, he’d do it with a man’s dignity.
The dark man’s expression warmed fractionally. “I’ve been looking for a boy,” he said. “You’ll do.”
“I’m no boy,” Lucas spat back at him.
The man laughed. “No, you’re not. But you’ll do anyway.”
* * * *
“And that’s how I met Raphael,” Lucas said, running a hand up and down Kathryn’s arm.
She waited for him to continue, frowning when he didn’t.
“What’s the rest of the story?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “That’s it.”
“But what about the vampire part?”
“The vampire part?” he repeated, laughing.
“Stop it.” She pinched his stomach, or tried to. Lucas’s washboard abs didn’t leave much to pinch. “I want to know how he turned you into a vampire. And when. Because you don’t look sixteen years old, bud. I don’t sleep with babies, no matter how old they really are.”
“So far you haven’t slept with me, either,” he murmured, nuzzling her jaw while one hand snuck up to cup her breast.
Kathryn turned into his embrace, unable to help herself. Every time he touched her, her body responded, as if it was programmed into her genes. She curved one leg around his thigh and began stroking herself along his hip.
Lucas made a rumbling sound deep in his chest and bent to suck gently on her neck. Kathryn shivered. She put her lips next to his ear and whispered, “Tell me when you became a vampire.”
Lucas slapped her ass playfully and pulled away from her to lie back on the pillows. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because I’m curious. How does it work?”
“I’m not going to tell you that. If you ever become a vampire, you’ll find out. If not—” He tugged a length of her hair. “—you won’t. Which, as far as I’m concerned, means you’ll never know. I like you just the way you are.”
“Spoilsport. I hate secrets.”
Lucas laughed again. “We all have them, a cuisle. Even you.”
Kathryn scowled at the Irish endearment. He never had told her what it meant, but she didn’t want to derail their current conversation to ask, so she let it slide.
“Well, at least tell me what happened after that night,” she said instead.
Lucas gave a dismissive shrug. “Raphael needed someone to be his daytime eyes and ears. It wasn’t like now, with everything done on the Internet and all sorts of places open twenty-four hours a day. Someone had to deal with the hundred and one things necessary to running a household, things that needed doing during the day. Even vampires need clothing and supplies, and there were social necessities, mail and such. Invitations to events like the opera. Raphael and his people weren’t high profile, but they travelled in very ritzy circles.”
“So you were his errand boy.”
“Something like that.”
“For how long?”
“How old do I look to you?”
“Twenty-seven,” Kathryn said immediately.
“Close enough. After a few years, Raphael decided to leave Europe. I went with him, of course. There was nothing left for me in England, or Ireland, either. And my life with Raphael had been better than anything I’d known before that. For the first time, I wasn’t hungry every night. I had a clean, safe place to sleep and decent clothes to wear. So, I booked ship passage for all of us and dealt with the captain and crew, safeguarding the vampires as they slept, and arranging quiet encounters at night so the vampires could feed discreetly. Once we arrived in America, Raphael gave me a choice. I chose to become what I am.”
“What if you’d chosen otherwise? What would he have done?”
“He’d have kept me on as his daylight guard, or given me enough money to set myself up doing whatever else I decided. Loyalty is important to him.”
Kathryn studied him for a moment, surprised by the honest emotion she heard in his voice when he talked about Raphael.
“You love him.”
Lucas nodded. “He’s my Sire. That’s the most important relationship any vampire has, unless he takes a mate. Even then, the two—Sire and mate—are equally significant to him. But more than that, Raphael was the first person, other than my mother, who ever treated me like I was worth something. I would give my life for his without hesitation.”
“Well, please don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t give your life away.” She looked up and held his gaze so he’d know she was serious, but then, feeling the need to take a step back, she added, “I’m using it right now.”
Lucas regarded her intently. A slow smile curved his lips, and he said, “No promises. But if you’re nice to me, I’ll do the best I can.”
“I am nice to you.”
“I meant . . . right now.”
Kathryn felt something hard brush against her hip. “Oh, that,” she said playfully. “I’m sure I can come up with something nice for that.”
* * * *
Daniel woke to the sound of voices. He lay still, afraid to move, not wanting whoever it was to hear him and stop talking. There’d never been anyone but his kidnapper before. No one for either of them to talk to but each other. But now . . . yes, that was definitely a woman’s voice.
His breath caught as he hoped, briefly, that it was Kathryn, that she’d found him, and the FBI was going to break in with guns blazing. Or at least with badges flashing since it didn’t sound like there was much shooting going on out there. But it wasn’t Kathryn. Her voice was much huskier than this woman’s, sexier, or so his friends told him. She was his sister. He didn’t want to think about whether her voice or anything else about her was sexy.
The woman out there, whoever she was, was agitated, her voice rising in volume and emotion.
“I’m telling you, that FBI bitch is cozying up to Lucas, and that’s not good.”
“Maybe you’re just jealous. You’ve always had a thing for him.”
“Fuck you!” the woman snapped. “Besides, they left together. How’s that for proof?”
“Whatever,�
�� his kidnapper muttered. “What difference does it make?”
“We need to end this. You never told me his sister was a fucking FBI agent.”
“How the hell was I supposed to know something like that?”
“If you’d hit up his business agent right away, like we discussed, it wouldn’t matter. We’d have the ransom, and this whole thing would be over already.”
“There’s more to this than money, for God’s sake.”
“Not for me there’s not! Especially now that Lucas is involved. I’m not risking my life so you can get your rocks off with your boyfriend in there.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s an artist.”
“Yeah, well, he’s a rich artist, and I’m sending the ransom demand before it’s too late.”
“No!” the man said immediately. “I mean, not yet. I need to make a phone call later tonight. Then we’ll work something out.”
Daniel grinned. So Kathryn was looking for him. He’d known she wouldn’t give up easily. A door slammed outside the room. It was a little distant, like down a long hallway, and the noise usually meant his captor was leaving for a while. In this case, he thought it was probably the woman leaving, but had the man gone with her? But no, a key turned in the door lock, so someone was still here. He steadied his breathing, feigning sleep. It was a skill he’d perfected over his weeks of captivity, and he was quite good at it. For some reason, the man was always reluctant to wake him. Maybe he thought an artist needed his sleep or some crap. Daniel didn’t know and didn’t care. If it kept his admirer away from him, it was a good thing.
The door opened slowly. Daniel could feel him standing there, staring at him, but he was used to it and didn’t move. A moment later, the door closed, but he remained still. His captor tested him sometimes, popping the door open quickly, trying to catch him. It had worked the first time he’d tried it, but not since then, because Daniel wasn’t a fucking idiot. Although he was beginning to think his kidnapper might not be playing with a full deck.
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